But it's the little things that count.
It's the little things that nearly pull a mother down into the abyss. The endless brushing of little teeth, of washing little hands. The recurrent tying of little laces and buckling of little overalls. The ceaseless cutting of chicken or buttering of toast or peeling of carrots. The relentless singing of songs and reading of books when a mama is so tired that the words don't seem to make sense anymore. The perpetual redirection when safety or peace is at risk. The tucking in, stirring, wiping up, combing, folding, patting, hugging.
And each bit seems so mundane. Each bit seems so unimportant all on its own. But drip by drip by drop, little things grow and turn into big things. The big things turn around and now, you are a little thing, a receiver of little things: a text, a hug, some shared music. What was once bottomless becomes finite, eighteen years, size 10 1/2 shoe, working until close, and before you know it, the only thing that is bottomless now is love, built on a foundation of little, little things.